


You Know What They Say About Assumptions

by ravensinflight



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-21
Updated: 2019-12-20
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:54:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21876982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravensinflight/pseuds/ravensinflight
Summary: RSS gift for Katillac25. Prompt was: "cat and mouse, shy Rumple"Gold hasn’t been picking up what Belle French has been putting down.A non-magic Storybrooke AU; homage to the first kiss.
Relationships: Belle/Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold
Comments: 8
Kudos: 34





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [katillac25](https://archiveofourown.org/users/katillac25/gifts).



> I wasn't sure there would be any smut to this but lo, a holiday miracle. If that's not your cup of tea, just skip the final chapter!

Mean sonuvabitch.

That was one of the crueler things said about him. A more diplomatic person might go with “aloof,” but only briefly. “Cold” was often employed, which suited him. It seemed the most accurate--he felt chilled to the touch, wintery down to his bones.

Gold would really have preferred if people didn’t talk about him at all, but he supposed that wasn’t an option. If it were possible to only exist to other people while he was actively in the process of interacting with them, that would be ideal. Alas, gossip.

The bell jangled. He looked up. He smiled--or an approximation thereof. This was “Dealing With a Customer” Gold. This was “How May I Help You?” Gold. This was a facet of himself that he liked the least. This performing monkey version that was a hair's breadth away from groveling for people’s business; hardly needed business at that considering his other enterprises. And yet he couldn’t quite give up the shop, despite his . . . reticence. 

He didn’t need to actually speak the words to this customer however. The woman jangling his bell was Belle-Belle French, the librarian from across the street who seemed to delight in visiting his shop for no other reason than “browsing” and smudging up his glass cases by endlessly peering inside or leaning against them whilst chatting with him about trivial things. Certainly nothing that ever led to a sale. Yet he could feel his approximate smile becoming something slightly realer at the sight of her.

“Ah, Miss French,” he said quietly, a hand taking up a soft cloth absently. “Whatever can I do for you today?”

She smirked at him and his heartbeat quickened slightly. She always smiled at him- _always_ -such a sharp contrast from other people. But her smile had moods and meanings. Sometimes she beamed, glorious sunlight, sometimes it was merely pleasant with the addition of a little wave of her fingers, and sometimes, such as now, it was a knowing little smirk that promised trouble.

He swallowed reflexively. Belle-Miss French-sauntered forward on today’s heels of choice and leant up against the counter without any browsing preamble. She wore a pale pink cardigan over a lacey white shirt, and her wrists just peeked out from the ribbed sleeves as her hands casually draped themselves onto his countertop.

Smudging.

He moved the cloth in his hand mechanically and uselessly and quirked an eyebrow at her but refused to engage any further than he already had. The smirk remained in place and her eyebrows duelled with his.

“Mr. Gold,” she said in that charming accent of hers. Only when she spoke in it though-when Moe French spoke he considered committing honorable suicide.

“I wonder if you had any plans this evening? After closing?” She was talking around the smile on her face, like its presence wasn’t something she had control over and he found himself so distracted by watching her mouth he almost missed her words.

“This evening?” He said, and while his hand kept wiping and his face likely kept vaguely smiling he felt something low in his gut sink. People usually spoke to him in the dark hours after closing when they had business they didn’t want to conduct in the light of day; when there were deals to cut and prices to be paid. That wasn’t something he wanted from Belle French. He didn’t want anything from Belle French, of course, but especially not that.

She nodded at him encouragingly, slow blighter that he was. 

“I--could be available at that time, Miss French.” He finally gave up the cleaning pretence and leaned against the counter, arms wide in a conscious effort to keep from mirroring her clasped hands on the glass. He tossed his hair away from his face, watching with hope how her eyes had brightened, how she bounced slightly on her toes and bit her lower lip in excitement. This did not seem the response of a person preparing to ask him for a loan or to try and make a deal. Whatever it was she wanted from him, it wasn’t something that was going to make her think him a monster.

Not yet.

“May I ask what is it in regards to, your after hours visit?” He asked.

The smirk returned. “Hmmm, actually, Mr. Gold, it’s a surprise!” She said, leaning in close, telling him a secret, a coquettish turn to her head he found amusing and endearing though he knew it meant nothing, nothing at all.

His stomach, which had fallen, swooped back upward and lodged somewhere in his chest, causing a tightness that he carefully breathed around as he fought not to smile at her like a dope. He leaned in a fraction of an inch, conspiratorially, and told her he couldn’t wait, he loved surprises. As she smiled wide and walked back out the front door, bell tingling merrily, he fought down the urge to hurry after her and apologize for lying.

He hated surprises.

******

Closing time came. He flipped the sign but didn’t lock the door, unsure of what the etiquette was in this particular situation. He felt annoyance at himself for _dithering_ , and resolved to close-up as though nothing unusual were occurring. He was in the back, locking the till in the safe when he heard the bell ring and a faint hello call out. 

“Back here,” he called in response, and turned on heel and cane to make his way back out front. He halted in the middle of the room as a pale hand snuck between the heavy brocade curtains, pushing them aside enough for Miss French to peek her head through.

“Hi,” she said with a smile, the rest of her following through the curtain with just a whisper of fabric. “I locked the front door behind me, since I saw the sign flipped, I hope that’s alright.”

He swallowed heavily but managed to speak smoothly. “That’s fine.”

She clicked forward and he was able to see her outfit in its entirety, not really noticing it before when she’d approached the counter earlier. The heels of choice were sky-high as usual, and _gold_ which was . . . interesting. The skirt was black and short, and the lacey top with the pink cardigan was not entirely opaque. The brassiere beneath appeared to be equally lacey and matched the skirt.

Gold swallowed again and carefully watched her cheerful face, folding his hands atop the cane directly in front of himself and tried to give the appearance he often stood in the middle of his own back room to receive visitors.

She was worrying at one corner of her lip, the smile dancing around the edges again, and drew close enough he could smell the vanilla sweetness of her. Her right hand reached out, tripping lightly along his tie and he drew in a quick breath.

“I’m glad we finally had a chance to do this,” she said, voice low and almost husky.

“And-what is that?” He asked in dazed confusion, sure he felt the nearly non-existent touch through three layers of clothing _burn_ along his chest.

“Spend some time alone, Mr. Gold,” and she drew so close he could see that the blue in her eyes was infinite.

He was lost. Completely at sea. What was happening?

He must have said that last part out loud, because her grin was Chesire-cat wide this time.

“Why, isn’t is obvious, Mr. Gold? I’m here to seduce you.”


	2. Chapter 2

Belle had been enjoying their little flirtation up until now, but she was _so_ glad they were finally going to get down to it. Coming in on her breaks, passing him in town--it had been cute but it hadn’t really scratched the itch. She admired Gold’s composure, really she did; usually she could have a man following her around by now, ready to jump whenever she snapped her fingers. Admittedly, part of Gold’s appeal was the reserve and decorum, with just a hint of mystery. He wore the hell out of those three piece suits but with the rebelliously long hair, the predatory smile but never a leer, the fatheaded gossip that swirled all around him yet he was always cool and professional. He was making her work for it more than she had in some time, and Belle was liking it.

She thought they’d both been on the same page, ready to take this flirtation to the next level. For her, she preferred the first time to be on neutral or semi-neutral territory (i.e., not at either of their places) so that a quicker exit could be manufactured if need be. She knew he had a cot back here, having caught sight of the back room on previous visits. She preferred a bed, though it wasn’t necessary.

Although he’d agreed to meet her here after work, she wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d suggested heading back to his or even conveniently across the street to hers, given that sense of decorum she liked so much about him. Hell, she liked it so much she was already planning to move her “seduction” to the locale of his choice. Except he wasn’t purring in her ear that they move this somewhere more comfortable, the next step she’d anticipated after her little declaration.

He wasn’t playing the same game at all.

“You’re _what?”_ He’d almost shouted it, stumbling back from her as if burnt.

Belle blinked in shock.

Gold was breathing heavily, staring at her like she’d grown a second head or kicked his dog or something. 

“Gold?” She lifted her hand toward him again and started forward.

“Don’t!” This time he did shout, and she stopped instantly. His eyes began to dart around the room, behind her, to the curtain, into the corners. After tense moments of searching, he turned dark eyes back to bore into her. “Who put you up to this?”

“What?” Now it was her turn to be confused.

“Don’t play the fool with me, Miss French,” he growled. “Whose idea was this?”

“Whose-My idea!” She was indignant. No one told Belle French who to sleep with but Belle French.

Gold froze in place. “It was _your_ idea?” His voice was low and incredulous.

Before Belle could reiterate the point Gold had strode forward, whipping past her with more speed than she thought capable a man with a walking stick, and stood holding back the curtain to the front of the store.

With a voice like ice he said simply, “Leave.”

Belle was gobsmacked. Then she was humiliated. Then she angry. She was all of these things very intensely and very rapidly which caused a sort of quiver through her body and a boiling of her blood. She felt a bit like crying or shouting, so she did.

“Leave?!” She waltzed up into his personal space, pointing a finger in his face. She was tempted to give him a hard poke with it, but resisted.

He flinched a bit at her proximity but otherwise remained unmoving.

“Why the hell would you say yes to having me come over after hours if you thought this was some kind of-of joke?!” Belle threw her hands up in exasperation. 

Gold was a statue, arm still holding back yards of brocade, other arm resting atop his cane like a showman at the circus welcoming people into the big top.

“People conduct business with me after hours all the time,” he said in measured tones. “Often things they don’t want anyone else to know about: loans, deals, the skinning of children.”

Belle snorted in amusement despite herself then pursed her lips in frustration. “And that’s what you thought I was coming over for? To talk ‘business?’” Her scornful sarcasm was so thick she didn’t bother to mime the air quotes.

Gold seemed to waver in his statue impression slightly, and the next time he looked at her, she felt _seen._

“Of course,” he said more quietly. “Why else would you come?”

It was like a light switch getting flipped. Belle felt the anger start to drain away slowly, leaving her a little more clear-headed. She began to think, using her vaunted intellect and her brain rather than her-well, other parts she may have been thinking with recently. She thought of all those breaks she spent in the store, aimlessly eyeing the antiques and their dealer while chatting him up; obvious to her that the point of her trip was to see him, and he was always so very glad to see her. Or was that just excellent customer service? And their brief moments of flirting out about town--admittedly, even she didn’t consider just exchanging hellos and pleasantries flirting, but Gold _never_ stopped to do so with anyone else. She’d thought he was paying her special attention, poor man was probably wondering why she was nattering at him all the time. 

A suspicious niggle began to form in the back of her mind. Everyone talked _about_ Mr. Gold, but no one talked _to_ Mr. Gold, far as she could tell. He’d all but just admitted the only thing people wanted from him was business and deals. So that meant-no one in this town actually knew Mr. Gold, not really. All those rumors circling around were stuff and nonsense. He was obviously a very cunning business man, but he was no mafia loan shark or whatever else they’d cooked up. And Gold himself had done nothing to dispel those rumors. Too busy? Too important?

Too _shy._

A shy, lonely man with few or no friends who had no idea she was coming over for essentially a booty call and thought was was setting him up for a practical joke or as part of someone’s elaborate revenge scheme or something else ludicrous and paranoid. At the very least he must assume she was playing games with his affections (because despite how wrong she’d read the situation, she suspected the man at least had a crush on her, she couldn’t have read it _that_ wrong.)

A sort of thrumming took up in Belle’s chest, not quite her heartbeat but stronger than butterflies, the wing beats of a bird in flight. She felt a calmness soothe the last of her indignation in its wake, and resolution flow in.

She stepped forward into Gold’s personal space and god why didn’t she know the man’s first name?! His posture had gone lax, the fight gone out of him, and he made no move to retreat or hide. While his arm no longer held the curtain open, he still shifted enough to the side to make it possible for her to pass by him without needing to touch him and she realized that’s what he thought she intended to do. His eyes closed in resignation.

She stopped right in front of him, only inches of air between their bodies. She could hear a slight stutter in his breathing, and it gave her the courage to raise a hand up to his face, lightly passing her palm across his cheek. Despite all appearance otherwise, he was warm, warm, warm. Still a bit prickly though, she thought with a slight smirk.

His eyes opened in shock. She swore he stopped breathing altogether. He didn’t know what she would want other than business? Maybe she should show him.

She moved toward him, steadily but slowly. Now was his chance to run. Now was his chance to prove her utterly wrong in all her assumptions. Now was his chance to rage and shove at her like the monster everyone-including himself-seemed to think he was. 

Now he was cradling her face in his own hand and moving forward to meet her in a gentle but firm kiss, eyelashes fluttering closed against her skin, fingertips at her cheek smoothly moving down to rest at her neck.

Not a total mistake.

They pulled apart after a handful of moments, Belle running a tongue across her bottom lip and ready to head back in for more but practicing some patience. She thought the look in Gold’s eyes was “dazed,” or perhaps “wonderstruck” although that wasn’t quite it but closer. Either way, he seemed to finally be on the same page as her. Except for one thing.

She felt herself giving him a look she had many times before-her conspiratorial smile of devious ideas that he used to counter with what she thought was a knowing smirk of his own and she had no idea how he had actually previously interpreted it but now, _now_ he was lit up like Christmas at the sight of it so that was a green light. She twined both her arms around his neck and played with the ends of his hair. “Maybe, Mr. Gold, at this point in our _acquaintance,_ you might be able to tell me your first name?”

It was in his eyes this time, she realized, that was the difference. The smile had made it all the way to his eyes and she could feel it right down to the soles of her feet.

“Perhaps, Miss French.”

So he did.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The promised bit of smut, happy holidays.

A kiss had become another kiss, had become actual conversation, had become sitting very close together on the bed in the backroom exchanging words and touches in equal amounts.

She’d finally gotten Gold to blush, which had prompted her to giggle and him to retaliate by attempting to make her blush in return. His attempt was so sincere but so sweet she’d ended up giggling harder, and then worried that he might interpret that as laughing at him, she decided to climb in his lap and kiss it better. That had definitely made him blush, among other redirections of blood flow.

She was experimenting with different ways to taste his gorgeous mouth when she realized he had quite a grip about her waist. While she appreciated the extra support while concentrating on the task at hand, she felt the position she was in was fairly secure. Well, it would be fairly secure, if she were resting her weight fully against Gold, something his grip was preventing her from doing. It was giving her flashbacks to ballet lifts. 

It seemed her Mr. Gold was trying to spare her certain _contact_ with his anatomy during their make-out session. What a gentleman. For some reason that thought caused her already damp undergarments to become even wetter. A fact Gold might be aware of, if his iron grasp were loosened and she made landfall on the tenting at the front of his usually well-fitted trousers. She’d forgone tights today for a reason.

Nipping at his lower lip as distraction, Belle placed her hands on his shoulders and raised herself up slightly on her knees. Thinking, perhaps, that she was moving off of him, Gold’s grip relaxed. Grinning against his mouth, Belle took the opportunity to slide her left hand down his right arm to where his hand now sat along her waist, then catching his hand up in hers, continued sliding it down, down, over the briefness of her rucked up skirt and straight into her soaked panties.

She held her hand against his against the warmth and slickness of herself without doing anything for a moment, pulling her head back slightly to gauge his reaction to this bold move. 

His eyes were black, pupils blown wide and the chocolate of the irises almost indistinguishable. They shared ragged breaths back and forth, then Belle felt his fingers give the faintest of twitches against her, an exploratory flutter she answered with a brief tightening of her grip on his and a wicked grin.

Gold’s tongue snaked out to lick his lip as his touches against her became less hesitant, her own hand resting on top of his less out of guidance than a desire for the continued touch. Closing her eyes as blissful sensations began to build, Belle felt his other hand start to slide around to cup her ass, and used the moment to fluidly slide fully into his lap and grind against his erection.

She felt his groan as much as she heard it, and he head dropped against her shoulder, lips brushing her neck haphazardly. His fingers had stuttered momentarily but began again in earnest, working her sloppily, trapped in her panties, her own hand rubbing against his erection outward through them and however many layers he was wearing in a writhing, contorting mess that should have been awkward as hell but based on the sounds coming out of both of their mouths was clearly working for them.

At some point, he’d found her clit enough to be circling it with the pad his thumb fairly consistently, another finger breaching her entrance and drawing _delightful_ designs at random with their thrusting. Peaking, she distantly heard herself making a sort of choked wailing sound which Gold seemed to be encouraging wholeheartedly with groans of his own. Blinking herself back to awareness, she realized she was still moving against Gold albeit rather bonelessly, his fingers still working although in more of a caress than a plunder.

Moving her own hand free from her panties, she cupped him somewhat roughly over his trousers. Before she could consider her plan of attack, Gold gave another loud groan against the juncture of her neck and shoulder, shuddering in her grasp as she gently cradled him, one hand below and one behind his head.

Their breathing fell into tandem in the quiet that followed, harsh breaths softening and finally becoming silently as they stared at one another. Now was the time for things to get awkward, or any number of things to start to go awry. But despite the rucked up clothing, flushed cheeks, various fluids, and previous miscommunications, Gold--and she couldn’t quite bring herself to use his newly revealed name even to herself--leaned forward and kissed her like it was a sunny new day.

“Perhaps,” he said, leaning back again. “We could take this somewhere more comfortable?”

Happy, smug, sated, eager, Belle said, “That sounds lovely.”


End file.
